


how the light works

by librarymontage



Category: Another Country (1984)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, Judd and Bennett's Ride or Die Friendship, M/M, Pining, Post-Canon, Public School Politics, Subtle Judd/Menzies, They just sit in the dark and talk about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28440528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarymontage/pseuds/librarymontage
Summary: Judd can’t sleep and Menzies is no help at all.
Relationships: Tommy Judd/Jim Menzies
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	how the light works

**Author's Note:**

> Movie canon due to Fowler being head of house and Devenish being straight. Title comes from Richard Siken’s poem 'Dirty Valentine'. Also I’m not British so please forgive any lapses in regional slang/spelling. Thanks for reading!

Tommy Judd was probably an insomniac based on the number of times he found himself awake and half alert at ungodly hours of the night with little clue as to why he wasn’t fast asleep like the boys around him. At first, he thought it was just Wharton waking him up with his sleep talk but, down the hall, Wharton was silent, unmoving, in a beam of moonlight from the window opposite his bed. This was all in Judd’s head and it was starting to get on his nerves. 

Not for the first time Judd wished Bennett slept in his dormitory hall. At least then he might have someone to shake awake as well, someone to whisper to across beds, which was the exact reason they weren’t allowed to sleep anywhere near each other. Matron always knew too much. 

Silently out of bed, down the dorm hall, careful to avoid the floorboards he knew creaked under his weight: Judd had sneaking out down to a science. Repetition created rituals as well and forced him to avert his eyes from the space where Martineau’s bed had once stood, an ill-fated reminder of the very worst public school could achieve. Someone had moved his entire bed a few weeks ago and never replaced it with anything, leaving a gaping hole in the dorm’s layout that did more to emphasize the fact that something had gone terribly wrong in Gascoigne house than cover up the issue. It made Judd sick. 

The library, at least, was quiet and devoid of any such reminders of the capitalist conspiracy that was public education in Britain. If Judd hadn’t been so tired he might have conjured some of his ever-burning rage towards English society to spur him forth in Das Kapital but as it stood he could barely find it in himself to sit down and open the book. That was the worst part about this insomniac phase: how he couldn’t get to sleep to save his life but he was still so exhausted. It made school even more tedious than usual, the other boys more insufferable, and Judd knew he was reaching his breaking point. He just had to get to next term, that was all; when they were older and wiser, things would improve. They had to, for his and Bennett’s sake at least. 

Bennett wasn’t helping in the slightest either. The end of term always wore on both of them and he usually took it upon himself to find some new activity to pass the time between studying and militarism and propaganda they were forced to endure. Last term it had been a style of paper folding Bennett swore was Japanese but Judd hadn’t been sure; before that, it was scribbling rude notes in the margins of library books and trying to get their peers accused of the crime.

But Bennett was still in a pissy mood from the whole Fowler/Menzies mess from a few weeks prior, which Judd couldn’t really hold against him. As Judd had hoped, the entire situation seemed to help radicalize Bennett more than Judd had ever been able to do after three years of trying, but the silver linings ended there. Bennett was always too busy sighing like an old maid or glaring at someone or sneaking off with Harcourt to spend much time with Judd, which was obnoxious but fine. Harcourt obviously handled Bennett’s constant complaints better than Judd ever could and it was better for Bennett to say the damning words out of house than risk getting beaten again. Judd respected the logic of it. And he wouldn’t ever admit out loud that he missed the company of his best friend because that would just be going a shade too far. 

Back to the comfortably indecipherable world of Marx. It probably made more sense in the original German but learning the language had been slow going for Judd because the school only taught bloody French, which was as useless as it was obnoxious, and the language books in the library were almost too faded to read. For the time being, English it must be. 

Even though it was hard work on top of the hard work he already had for marks, Judd loved everything about his study of economics. Reading theory made him feel like he was actually doing something worthwhile with the immense privilege he had been given, rather than playing games and ignoring the inequality that surrounded him like his peers preferred to do. Judd wasn’t stupid; he knew he had been born into the class Marx railed against and he was lucky to even be able to read and understand theory, but he was only seventeen and still locked in the prison of public school. It wasn’t much but it was the limit of what he could achieve now, no matter how paltry and pathetic it felt. He had tried teaching his peers a bit of it but even broaching the subject in an educational way was an invitation for taunts, name-calling, and general buffoonery. Bennett was his last hope for radicalization and that seemed to be chugging on just fine without him. 

He was sitting in his usual spot at what he had come to consider his desk, where he couldn’t see the door that connected him to the rest of the school and moonlight from the window to his left almost entirely eliminated his need for a lamp. These were the moments of peace, the moments that made all of this worth it. School was a distraction, an impediment to the work he wanted to be doing, one more systematic roadblock to keep the status quo of oppression staunchly intact. Every second he spent in this godforsaken prison was a second he could have been—

Someone cleared their throat behind Judd and he nearly jumped clean out of his skin. He whipped around in his chair, dreading the face of Fowler or Delahay, both of whom would take too much pleasure in his getting in trouble, but was instead greeted by the scowl of Menzies, holding one of Judd’s many confiscated torches in one hand and a thick, dusty book in the other. 

“What are you doing here, Judd?” Menzies said. “It's well after lights out.” 

Damn, it was always the bloody prefects sticking their noses where they didn't belong. But Menzies was much better than anyone else; any power he thought he had was moot while Fowler was still head of house. “What are you doing here? Prefects should be in bed after a long day of oppression and exploitation.” 

“And pseudo-communists need their beauty sleep before they continue the revolutionary work of leveling unbased accusations against their classmates.” 

That was a prime example of what Judd hated so much about Menzies: everyone else thought ‘communist’ was the insult that would scar him but Menzies knew the opposite was what Judd lost sleep over. 

Judd sighed and stood with his hands in the air, ready for whatever punishment Menzies doled out. But Menzies just scoffed, flicked the torch off, and settled onto the window seat with one arm slung over the wooden backrest, moonlight catching on his hair, his cheekbones, anywhere it could land. Judd had to look away. 

“You don’t honestly think I’d turn you in now, do you?” Menzies said without looking at Judd. “Technically it’s Barclay’s night for dorms. We’re both breaking the rules here and Fowler won’t be any nicer to me than you.” 

“That’s not true at all. You’re his perfect little lapdog.” 

“Not anymore.” 

“What?” 

“He’s getting too comfortable as head of house. Thinks Farcical is going to let him stay on indefinitely. Barclay and I are afraid he’s preparing to have his own people as prefects for next term.” 

“Good God,” Judd breathed. “We’re screwed. You do know this is all your fault, right?” 

“Oh, shut up.” 

“One little mistake and you’re throwing away years of alliances and—” 

“Bennett didn’t make a little mistake, Fowler caught him! It was out of our hands.” 

“So you had to ruin everything Bennett had been waiting for for years? Menzies, he would probably disown me for even speaking with you right now.” 

Menzies’ face darkened. “That’s not my problem. We’re playing a game, Judd, that’s all, and Bennett managed to lose this round. I got what I wanted and so did the others, such is life. In the meantime, acting the sore loser does nothing for him but soothe his ego.” 

That was a fact with which Judd couldn’t argue. Bennett had said it himself: it was all a game, a ladder. One’s own principles always tasted bitter when turned against oneself and Bennett should have been strong enough to understand that by now. Still, loyalty counted for something with Judd and this was a topic he and Menzies would never agree upon. 

“What did you even want from it? All that just to keep your power? I didn’t think you were the type.” 

“It wasn’t just about the power.”

“To keep Devenish in school then?” Menzies’ jaw worked furiously under his skin. He turned back to the window, his hands balled into fists. Something clicked into place in the back of Judd’s mind. “Wait, Menzies, you don’t seriously mean. . .” 

“I told you to shut up.” 

“I’m not very good at following orders.” A pause; Judd knew he couldn’t let this go. “Really? Devenish?” 

Menzies’ voice was measured, calculated with every syllable. “He’s always been very kind to me and, until I became a prefect, no one was kind to me at all. If you got to know him, you’d understand.” 

“For God’s sake, you have options, Menzies. If you were lonely, Bennett is right there—” 

“This isn’t about sex, Judd,” Menzies spat. “You can’t possibly understand, even spending as much time with Bennett as you do. I don’t have options, I never will. You do.” 

“I do?” 

“Don’t you have your usherette?” 

“Oh, yes, her.” Despite popular belief, she was real and Judd had liked her but she probably wouldn’t talk to him for anything in the world now. “I would probably understand more than you think.” 

Menzies snorted. “Being friends with Bennett isn’t understanding. I could have sworn you were smart enough to see that.” 

“So what happened with Devenish? Was it worth it?” 

“Ah.” Menzies picked at a piece of lint on the seat’s cushion. “No. No, he’s as straight as they come.” 

“I’m sorry,” Judd said in a valiant attempt at friendliness. “Genuinely. I wish it had worked out.” 

“Well, c’est la vie.” Another pause. “It isn’t my fault entirely, though. Bennett still has his vial of nitroglycerin for Barclay and Delahay.” 

“You know about that?” 

“Of course. Bennett and I used to talk, one fruit to another.” Menzies gave a rueful laugh. “I know why he didn’t but he deserves some of the blame, don’t you agree?” 

“I don’t know. Yes, I suppose. But it wouldn’t have been the end of the world if Harcourt were gone.” 

Menzies raised an eyebrow. “It would have been for Bennett.” 

“Yes, well, the world ends every other day for him, he would have been fine.” 

A strange atmosphere swept over the room. Judd sat very still, eyes fixed on his book without reading a word, but he could still see Menzies shift his whole attention towards Judd, leaned forward slightly on bent elbows. Damn it. He’d said too much already.

“Judd,” Menzies started slowly, “are you and Bennett—” 

“Obviously not,” Judd interrupted, looking up. “He has Harcourt.” 

“And you have your usherette.” 

Judd rolled his eyes. “I could have sworn you were smart enough to see through that ruse.” 

“She isn’t real?” 

“She is but we haven’t been together for two summers now.” 

Menzies sat silently for a moment. “I owe Devenish three pounds.” 

“What?” 

“I bet him that she wasn’t real; he swore she was. Thanks for nothing, Judd.” 

Menzies’ half-smile sent a damnable shiver down Judd’s spine and he knew he was done for. Nighttime always did that to him, made him say too much even as he regretted the words leaving his mouth. But it was late and it was Menzies and he really was at a loss of what to do. 

“So if it’s not Bennett,” Menzies said, “and if it’s not your usherette, who is it?” 

“Do shut up, Menzies, thank you.” 

“Does Bennett know?” 

Judd paused for the spike of guilt that always accompanied the thought of all the secrets he kept from Bennett, despite Bennett’s keeping no secrets from him. “No.” 

“About any of it?” 

“No.” 

“Oh. Why not?” 

“He’d never forgive me.” 

“It’s not Fowler, is it?” Judd looked at Menzies, scandalized. “Just making sure. Though I have always thought he was rather handsome when he’s not ruining people’s lives.” 

“Good God, Menzies.” 

Menzies laughed and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee and Judd felt his face flash hot. This wasn’t a new development, these feelings that had plagued Judd for years. Before Bennett, he’d assumed everyone had them and had only learned not to discuss them. They weren’t normal: intuitions to be ignored, shut away, locked behind an infinite amount of doors to ensure nothing spoiled the careful construction of a facade that Judd knew was a product of his class and a damaging one at that. It would reflect badly on his ideology if he were as indiscreet as Bennett. Besides, what did it matter how he felt when he heard about Martineau, when the locker room after cricket more closely resembled an Athenian bath, when Menzies looked at him with exasperation that bordered, grudgingly, on affection? He was still too young to be sure of anything, though he couldn’t ignore the sneaking suspicion that the window for that excuse was running out by the day. 

“You really should tell Bennett,” Menzies said gently. He had shifted his attention to the windows again, the twist of his neck following an action line that would have been the envy of Caravaggio, nimble fingers and fair skin and intelligent eyes half shrouded in shadow. “He would want to know.” 

“I very much doubt I shall ever tell anyone,” Judd said, a hair too loud. “I could return to my usherette, if she ever speaks to me again, and it wouldn’t be a lie. No one needs to know.” 

Menzies shot a cool look over his shoulder. “Except me?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself.” 

“You would really prefer to keep this to yourself forever?” 

“We all saw how well the opposite went for Martineau.” 

That was too far. Menzies uncrossed his legs, adjusted that infernal vest he was still wearing despite the hour, and stood. “You know, Judd,” he said with a finality that stung in Judd’s chest, “I always find myself wanting to believe you’ve changed but somehow I’m always disappointed.” 

Judd wanted to say something, he should have said something, but the words caught in his throat as he watched Menzies stroll past the desk to the door, still ajar, with darkness seeping into the room from the hallway beyond. If he were Bennett, he would know what to say and how to say it so Menzies wouldn’t roll his eyes or scoff. If he were Bennett, he would have already put a word to the uncomfortably warm weight that settled in his stomach whenever Menzies was around and he would have done something about it weeks ago. But he wasn’t Bennett, he was just an emotionally stunted schoolboy who had only ever learned how to ignore what he needed. 

“A word of advice,” Menzies said before he left for good. “You’re not an island, Judd. You can’t do it all alone. Of all people I thought you would know most of all how important a community is, especially for people like us.” He swung open the door without a sound. “Do me a favor and don’t tell Bennett about Devenish. I can’t say I trust him when he’s still this upset with me.” 

Judd nodded wordlessly and Menzies slipped out into the darkness, light on his feet and just practiced in the art of sneaking out of bed as Judd himself. Heavily, Judd sat at the desk and tilted the bronzed face of Lenin up to his own as if his statue might hold the key to everything he couldn’t seem to say. Words had never been hard for him before but precedence had long since abandoned this conversation. 

He really should tell Bennett. That would be his next step, no matter how much it made his stomach turn. Bennett knew about these things; this was his domain. Maybe Bennett would know what to do about Menzies, even if he wasn’t happy about it, and Judd knew he needed all the help he could get. And Menzies would still be there, day after day, in his prefect’s vest and a carefully guarded expression that Judd wanted to pick apart piece by piece. 

God, Judd thought as he picked up his book and statue for the furtive jaunt back to bed. He had gotten himself in far too deep this time.


End file.
